I Wasn't Sick, But I WAS Busy. Chronicles of My Sister

I had a 20-page paper to write in one evening. It ended up being 15 pages, 17 with illustrations. I turned it in on time...it kicks behind. I'm certain of it. It's about the popular perception of crime during the Great Depression and the causes thereof, with a sideline towards analyzing two popular movies of the time and how they relate to the main topic. Great stuff. Here's an excerpt:

Comics, it must be said, were nowhere near to being the only agents of change in the Depression-era values regarding crime. Popular opinion was turning for a number of reasons, as has been previously stated, and those reasons often had to do with the very reasons that popular sentiment extended towards mobsters in the first place. Criminals such as Babyface Nelson, Clyde Barrow, and Pretty Boy Floyd committed wide and public antics, reveling in the attention they got from friends and foes alike. While initially people cheered for these gangsters, the sheer scope of their exploits soon began to unnerve people. If people like these could not only get away with the crimes they did – robbery, murder, arson – but withstand widespread publication of their antics and even be gleeful in the attention they garnered, people began to believe, then the line was beginning to be crossed from entertainment to horror.

If all the policemen were powerless to stop Al Capone, people believed, what was to prevent him from walking into their very homes and robbing or killing them? No doubt his famous invulnerability to the law would protect him. The cheering for criminals diminished to grumbling, then eventually widespread fear. People felt powerless and unprotected by the government. Disenfranchised though they were, hatred of the government as popular as it seemed to be, people had counted on law enforcement to stop criminals and protect innocents. If this could no longer be done, the famous criminals ceased to be popular and soon sank to the level of terror.


Bit of going on and on, but I like it. It'll be sure to score me points with the teacher, no doubt. She likes me, anyway. I'd stay after class and talk to her on various subjects. (Note to anyone who isn't yet in college: Do this with your professors. Even in huge lecture classes. Especially in huge lecture classes. Nothing makes a professor like you more than you showing signs of genuinely caring about the subject. And a professor who likes you may be more lenient when it's time to grade that big project or term paper you maybe could have done better on.)

I had asked for an extension on account of Michelle (my sister) coming up from Wellington to throw my schedule into havoc and confusion, and she (Mrs. Van Damme, the professor) had granted it, but I thought of a couple of things.

1. I should have had it done before, and
2. All the stuff I did with my sister was really just recreation and procrastinating on my part. Granted, it's good to keep her entertained, because if I don't keep her entertained, she finds her own kind of entertainment, but still.

So I promised myself I'd stick to the original deadline. And I did. Fifteen pages, one evening. I couldn't rock any harder without actually being made of stone. And even then, if I was one of those soft sedimentary rocks, I'd still be rocking harder now. Eh, this metaphor's dead. So on to the description of the weekend. But we need to go a bit further back.

On Wednesday, Michelle gave me a call saying that the man she was living with currently, who had bailed her out of jail, was using this as leverage to try and control her life. He wouldn't let her go out, made her change her phone number, etc. What a jerk. And what an idiot, thinking he can control Michelle. She's about as easy to grab ahold of as a lightning bolt, and about as easy to pin down as fire. So I made some hasty arrangements, called up a friend of mine to get her a room to stay in while she found a job and more permanent sleeping arrangements, and bought her a bus ticket. It seemed like it would work fairly well.

Flash forward to Friday, many (MANY) phone conversations later. She says she has no place to sleep tonight. "Well, you can sleep here," I said gruffly, "but only for one night. Tomorrow you'll be at Stephanie's [my friend]." She agreed. Since it was pretty late, about 11:00, she went to bed on the floor almost immediately, and took my blanket. Of course, my roommate Walter had chosen that exact time to crank the thermostat down to Purely Theoretical Temperatures. (On a side note, even as I write this, he lurches over to the air-conditioning and cranks it up. Ice crystals are forming in my breath and my frozen blood is vainly trying to flow through my veins, and yet he claims he's hot. I think he's not human.) Sleeping wasn't going to be easy, but I wasn't sure at all how I was going to get up in the morning, being frozen to the sheets as I was. Fortunately, my sister wakes up much earlier than I do, and tossed me the blanket when she did so. I thus had a handful of hours of relative comfort.

When I finally did drag myself out of bed, we went to lunch. I showed her briefly around campus; I believed that since she was going to be staying near here, I might as well show her the place. We went to Taco Bell for lunch. Taco Bell...I hadn't eaten there in years. Always I had had some kind of prejudice against the place, some inborn hatred that was reinforced both by my parents' dislike for it and my sister's favor of it (for a while, I hated everything my sister liked. I was dumb as a young teenager). But I figured, what the heck. It can't be that bad. It's tacos, after all, I like tacos, just get some with only meat and cheese. Besides, it's college, time to try new things. So I got some tacos. I had a seat, I unwrapped one, I took a bite.

I hadn't eaten there in years, I recalled. And as soon as I took that first bite, I suddenly remembered why. The shells, somehow managing to be limp and stale at the same time. The cheese, ice-cold, even the melted parts. (Still don't understand that.) The meat, clearly not from an animal higher up on the food chain than, say, an armadillo. If this meat had ever seen a cow, it was as it was being loaded into a truck, from boxes that once said "Grade F Meat" but there was a line on the right side of the F so it looked like a boxy A. From a distance.

Sigh. But we soldiered on. Having glanced around campus a little more, we retired to the room, where I took my VHS copy of Little Caesar (the first movie starring Edward G. Robinson in his famous "Nyah, see?!" archetype, instrumental for my paper) and walked to Library West. It is interesting to note that when I originally found the tape in the bowels of the library, I made it all the way home before I remembered: I don't have a VHS player. But I recalled that they had some at the library, so off I strolled.

Side note: The way Library West works is awesome. They have way, way too many books and not enough space for true aisles, so all the aisles are on rails connected to the ceiling, and they're all jammed up tight together. When you want to get into a certain aisle, you press a button on the side, and a mechanical apparatus grinds the aisles apart so you can get in and retrieve a book. No matter how many times I do this, it's still the coolest thing ever. I believed an epic action-movie duel could be fought down there, with people ducking between the aisles and having to slip out or risk being crushed to death. My friend, another friend, thinks it's more suited to a Legend of Zelda-style puzzle, in which you have to align the aisles in a certain way to proceed. I like my interpretation better.

I arrived at the library, only to react in dismay. All six VHS viewing stations were occupied. As I had no choice, I patiently waited for one to become free. This was not an encouraging task. Only two people of the six were actually watching movies on the televisions, the rest were either studying alone, or studying together and talking animatedly, seemingly ignoring the TV sets before them. And yet, inquiries as to when they might be finished produced various reactions from "We're waiting for a friend" to "We're getting around to it," and even one "Oh, right, we have to watch the movie!" and chuckles all round as they popped in the tape. Demoralized, I sat nearby.

After twenty minutes, luckily, a station became available. I sat down, unsheathed my tape from its plastic box, and smacked myself in the head for incompetence. I had forgotten to bring headphones to plug into the television. There were no speakers, those sort of being contrary to the whole concept behind a library in the first place. So I trudged home, much to the dismay of Michelle, who had wanted to mess around on my computer for a few hours more. She had just discovered YouTube, you see. And, well, you know how that is. No end to the entertainment possibilities there, as we all well know.

Saturday night was entertainment itself. My girlfriend Vic picked us up (she's the only one of the three of us who actually has a car), and we went to CiCi's Pizza for dinner. I thought I could pack away the slices, but compared to her I'm an ascetic monk with a toothache. Food just vanishes when she's around. Michelle is always hungry. Always. She's like a bottomless pit, it seems. I really don't know where she puts it all. Then we went to Publix where we all picked out groceries and I was harangued for not caring enough about what scent of Old Spice bodywash I was supposed to be buying. As if I can smell anything anyway.

I remember we were choosing, in turn, our favorite songs and playing them on YouTube. She has no taste in music, that girl. I'm at least fairly confident that I tried to start writing my paper, but in a room with Michelle, trying to concentrate on work is impossible. She slept in my bed, but so did I, because I'm not giving up my bed to any interloper who thinks she can stay in my room. Blanket hog. We resolved to call Stephanie in the morning, because all three of us have the annoying habit of forgetting to return calls.

So, Sunday. The day I resolved to actually start working on my paper. Yeah, that didn't work out so well. We went to breakfast at the dining hall, and checked out the Reitz Union game room. And we had to walk all the way to a far-away gas station to purchase her cigarettes, which Michelle cannot live without for any kind of extended period of time. Given what else she's put into her body, cigarettes are pretty much the least of all evils. Beyond that, though, I don't remember much until the afternoon.

I think I know why I don't remember specifically what we did. It's because spending time with Michelle isn't like spending time with anyone else. The things we do are sort of just sidelines to...well, being in her presence for an extended period of time. She, like me, never stops talking - not ever. But that's good. She tells me all sorts of stories from her past, even those from just a few days ago. Mere events like meals and excursions pale in comparison to just listening to her for a few hours. Memory of events erodes in favor of memory of tales told. Her unique view of the world makes for an endless amount of interesting conversations, let me tell you what. Lots of fun.

I went to the library, movie in hand, headphones in, er, other hand, and finally watched Little Caesar. Good movie. I like Eddie G. On my way back, I called Stephanie as to finally getting Michelle moved out of my room and into hers. Guess what, she changed her mind, Michelle no longer had a place there. Deep, deep sigh. I waited a long time to go up and tell her about it, figuring she'd either explode with fury or burst into tears, but again I underestimated my crafty sibling. "I know," she said flippantly when I broke the news. "I knew when I talked to her this morning. I know when someone's shady and when someone's going to renege on a deal. I saw it coming." After much havoc, it was arranged that she would stay in a motel from Monday onward and take the bus back to Wellington on Thursday. I really wish this whole "keep her in Gainesville where I can at least have my eye on her" thing had worked out, but the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry, as they say.

Though I can't really see how the best laid plans of mice often go awry. I mean, what kind of planning do mice do? Mice have simple goals: 1. Get the cheese 2. Avoid cats and other such predators 3. Make more mice. Not exactly room in there for long-term scheduling and such. You don't clear out a mousehole and find a tiny Day Planner, every page filled with "squeak." Amusing as such a concept would be, nevertheless. I suppose you could consider plan 1 going awry, if you believe "decapitation via mousetrap" to be "going awry."

That evening we watched the Futurama movie, and she guessed the shocking plot twist at exactly the same point in the movie - the same line, even - that I did when I first saw it. After that, we started to watch Manhattan Melodrama (another movie for my project, this only took place after a spirited search of the room finally revealed the disk under some papers), but she got tired halfway through and went to bed. I followed soon after, uncharacteristically. I mean, it wasn't even 1:00 in the morning when I was asleep. How odd of me.

Monday, I went to class, after shooting some pool with Michelle in the student union game room. She claimes she used to be good, but hasn't played in years. I shellacked her first game, and the second was called on account of time. After my classes, I showed her the rest of the movie, when Vic came to pick her up and check her into her hotel room. After that, we all went out to Olive Garden (where lots more entertaining conversation was had), and then we dropped her off. I'll see her again tomorrow, she promised to take a bus down to campus for Game Night. I wonder what my gaming friends will think of her...

...Dang, did that really happen yesterday? It feels like weeks ago. Days with Michelle in them are action-packed, even considering the incredible surge of writing I undertook to get the paper done that evening. This morning, I woke up with difficulty breathing, itchy skin, and incredible pain in my stomach (for some reason, that's one symptom of my allergic reactions). I fled the room and managed to recover outside before anything majorly bad could happen. I could have taken Benadryl, I suppose, but I could NOT miss my presentation (oh yeah, in addition to the paper, I had to give a 20-minute presentation, but that was easy cheese compared to writing) AND the last band practice of the season. I have too many "absences" already.

I gave my speech, it was a hoot, I went to band practice, it was boring, I came back here, made dinner, helped Vic with some World of WarCraft stuff, and eventually sat here writing this. A little light on the humor, but I'm still kind of drained from dealing with Michelle for so long. She made the point during lunch at Olive Garden that I hadn't spent such a long time with her since 2000. That's...that's annoying. I should like to spend time with her more often. I love her, and I hardly ever see her.

As for my Luke-Approved YouTube Link of the Day, I say to you...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lD-d8_DTrJE It's from an old and creepy light-gun arcade game called CarnEvil. Traditional Circus of Fear stuff, but this level takes the cake. Watch all the way through it if you have the stomach, I cut out around thirty seconds in. Something about human-faced maggots and flies attacking you that just puts me right off, you know?

All right, for those who don't want to infiltrate a carnival of horrors, here's my Slightly Less Terrifying Alternate But Still Luke-Approved Other YouTube Link of the Day. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gkCCCUSw7gU It's Aerosmith's "Rag Doll." Michelle showed it to me. I like it.

Anyway. REPLIES.

Wednesday first.

Mom: I surely know how that bleed-it-out style of writing takes place. I do it sometimes, even for this here blog. And if Jesus wanted to sweat blood, just to prove a point, I bet he could have pulled it off. According to you, he rose from the freakin' dead, I think he could bleed a little on command. That bit about knowing things versus not knowing things just completely confused the heck out of me. I guess I just don't know anything. North Carolina rocks. But not as hard as me.

Jake: I can't tell whether or not you're being serious there. I'll choose to believe you're not...why thank you, I am that awesome, aren't I. And yes, a blank screen is like nails scraping down the blackboard of my soul.

Dad: Really? I'll have to see this movie. It sounds like fun. That whole Megacon/skiing plan sounds convoluted, but if we can make it work, it sounds great. I do want to do both...don't want to miss out on either.

Steve: I only replied twice because I was correcting myself the first time. And I'm GLAD the fruit spamming is over. By the love of all that's good and holy, you have no idea how glad I am at the end of the cantaloupe tyranny. I'll be with you on December 14th. Certainly. See you then.

Vic: Again, I was just correcting myself. And I like to condense my responses, generally. How often SHOULD we talk about penguins? I'm not splicing my DNA. And a sherwani looks like any dang dress I've ever seen.

Now Friday's.

Vic: <3 to you too.

Steve: As it happened, I wasn't sick. I was just feeling under the weather. It's actually kind of interesting...it's as if my body thought "No, no, this isn't going to work, I can't be sick now. Far too much to do," and suppressed it. And OJ does help...it increases my deliciousness factor by a great deal.

Dad: Zycam, eh? I'll give it a look-see.

Steve: I was busy. As I have previously enumerated.

Mom: Zycam again. And congratulations on the purchase.

Now Monday's (geez, I have to got to stop letting these pile up on me).

Mom: Why? Because I am foolish, is why. And perhaps "sordid" was too strong a word. I should be more careful with my word choice, when speaking of Michelle's actions. >_>

Vic: I appreciate your silence on this matter. <3

Steve: I was starting on it. I got the research done a week ago, so at least I wasn't totally in the dark regarding the paper. And you ARE bad at procrastinating, it's just that I'm worse.

Later.